


Hidden Melody

by hedgehoggery



Category: Naruto
Genre: First Kiss, Hidden Talents, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15214427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgehoggery/pseuds/hedgehoggery
Summary: Tobirama is confusing and Madara doesn't understand how he feels about him. The only way he knows how to express his secret emotions is the hidden talent he keeps locked away in a deep corner of his house, where no one will find it.





	Hidden Melody

“I’ve told you before, Madara, there’s a certain standard that must be met in  _ all _ reports, even yours,” Tobirama said, tossing a report on to Madara’s desk. “If you’re unable to maintain that standard, you’ll be removed from your position.” Madara scowled at the white-haired man, whose face was infuriatingly calm. How  _ dare _ he come into Madara’s office and insult him!

“Tobirama,” he gritted. “My reports far exceed any pathetic standard you could have set.” One raised eyebrow was the only reaction Madara received.

“I trust we won’t have to have this conversation again,” Tobirama continued, as if deaf or dumb to Madara’s anger. 

“For your own sake, I certainly hope not,” Madara retorted. A satisfying flash of annoyance shot across Tobirama’s eyes but before Madara could revel in it for too long, he turned and left the office without so much as a goodbye. 

Madara scowled at the empty doorway, gritting his teeth in anger. He had a reputation among the various clans that needed to be maintained in the village - that he was heartless, ruthless, mean, and terrifying. And for the most part, people seemed to believe that. Pretty much everyone steered clear of him entirely and almost no one would dare to insult him. 

It was only those damn Senjus who felt they had any right to speak to Madara as an equal or, god forbid, a subordinate. Hashirama’s respect for Madara was born from friendship and not from fear, and didn’t irritate Madara quite so much. But Tobirama,  _ his _ respect for Madara seemed to be nonexistent. And it drove Madara crazy. 

Irritated and cranky from his interaction with Tobirama, Madara decided it was late enough in the evening to call it a day without drawing criticism. He gathered up his belongings and a few scrolls to review at home that night and stomped out of his office, making sure to put on his most menacing expression in order to fend off anyone who may be stupid enough to try to talk to him. It seemed to work, and Madara made it all the way back to his house without having to so much as say hello to a single soul. 

He dropped the scrolls on the table to deal with later and quickly made his way to the far back corner of his house, into the room that he kept locked at all times. Just cracking open the door and stepping into the room made his blood pressure drop significantly, and by the time he was seated on the bench in front of his secret passion, he was almost completely calm. The last bit of frustration washed away as he rested his fingers on the keys of his piano and began to play a scale to warm up. 

Madara had played the piano for almost his entire life, but hardly anyone who knew that was still alive and Madara decided it was best kept as a secret. There was no need for the clans or the village or the goddamn  _ Senju _ to think he was some kind of soft artist type and shatter their perception of him as a fearsome leader. So he kept his piano hidden away in this back room of his house, the sound contained to this one space, and poured his soul into the music that no one would hear.

Deciding his fingers were warmed up enough, Madara shited in his seat, preparing for the melody he had come here specifically to play. The first notes sent a familiar chill up his spine and he closed his eyes, letting the muscle memory in his hands bring forth life from the ebony and ivory keys. The melody was haunting, heartbreaking, and yet somehow peaceful - as if describing a home that Madara hadn’t yet found. 

It was the melody he had written for Tobirama.

Not  _ for _ Tobirama, really.  _ Because _ of Tobirama. Because of the strange, confusing emotions that he dredged up from within Madara’s usually dark pit of a soul. Emotions that Madara was unsure how to name - or perhaps too scared to name - but he knew quite well how they should sound. 

As the song picked up Madara felt as if his soul was being cleansed of the annoying feelings, like by pouring them into the music they were released from inside him. He felt like some unseen bonds were loosening from his wrists and, when he finally played the final haunting chord of the song, he was free. 

He took a deep breath after the music finally died away, wishing that the notes would somehow hang in the air longer, forever, never drifting to silence. But as always, silence was the only thing that remained. He opened his eyes and stood up, leaving the piano behind to deal with the scrolls he had brought home.

***

By the next morning, Madara had all but forgotten about his argument with Tobirama the previous day. He had slept decently the night before and was actually in a good mood, though he made sure not to show it too much, lest some foolish villagers think he wanted to chat. He made it almost all the way to his office before someone broke the early morning silence.

“Good morning, Madara.” Madara would’ve been annoyed if he didn’t recognize the familiar voice greeting him.

“Hashirama,” he said. “How can I help you?” Hashirama fell into step beside Madara as they walked down the hallway to his office.

“There’s a meeting today regarding the permitting of buildings on the Hyuuga side of town,” Hashirama said. “They’re requesting a tax be imposed for permits submitted by anyone who is not a member of the Hyuuga clan.”

“Inside their complex?” Madara asked.

“Within a half mile radius of their complex,” Hashirama explained. “Hence the need for the meeting.” Madara scoffed.

“They want to impose a tax on buildings constructed  _ near _ their complex? Absolutely not,” Madara spat. Hashirama chuckled.

“I figured you’d say that,” he said. “Which is why I tracked you down. The meeting starts in half an hour.” Madara nodded. 

“I’ll be there,” he said. Hashirama waved goodbye as Madara turned into his office. He threw the scrolls he had reviewed at home onto his desk and was filled with annoyance when he saw his report still sitting there from the day before, lying right where Tobirama had left it when he had come by to insult Madara. He picked it up and flipped through it. It was a fine report. Better than fine, really. Tobirama should be coming by to  _ thank _ Madara for his hard work and determination, rather than coming by to file false complaints about failing to meet standards that didn’t exist and didn’t seem to be imposed on anyone else.

Madara stopped flipping through the report when he noticed something written on the last page. 

“Rewrite and resubmit no later than lunchtime tomorrow.” 

It was Tobirama’s handwriting. 

Renewed anger coursed through Madara’s veins. This report had taken him hours upon hours to write the first time because he was so meticulous. There was no way he’d be able to rewrite it by lunchtime today, not to mention it was already a fine report and didn’t need to be rewritten at all! 

Quickly, he turned on his heels and marched out of his office with the intention of finding Tobirama and ripping his throat out, but he remembered the Hyuuga meeting that started in twenty minutes and decided his murder plot could wait until later. Since he was already out of his office, he decided to go directly to the meeting room. He was usually the first person to arrive at these types of meetings anyway, and it would allow him to get his pick of seats. 

Madara entered the meeting room and was pleased to see he was indeed the first arrival. He took his preferred seat by the window and rolled open a scroll, preparing to take notes. 

When the door opened again he expected to see Hashirama entering the room, but was dismayed to see Tobirama instead. He flashed him an angry scowl - but was shocked at the amusement he received in response.

_ Is he… laughing at me? _

“Madara,” Tobirama said simply in greeting. 

“Tobirama,” Madara hissed through gritted teeth. Despite the slew of empty chairs around the oval conference table, Tobirama took the seat right next to Madara. His anger now reaching a flash point, Madara opened his mouth to shout at Tobirama but was cut short by the sound of the door swinging open again.

“Ah, if it isn’t my two favorite people!” Hashirama entered the room with a wide smile, walking over to sit at the head of the table. “Can you believe the perfect weather we’ve been having this week? This really is my favorite time of year. The wind has just a faint chill on it and I’ve even noticed some of the leaves already changing color…”

Madara tuned Hashirama out and instead focused on the heat of the man sitting right next to him. Tobirama was leaning forward in his seat with his chin propped up by his hand, lazily reading a scroll he had brought with him. Madara leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, glancing at Tobirama out of the corner of his eye. He was drumming his fingers against his jaw mindlessly as he read, and Madara found himself transfixed by the rhythm.  _ Ba da bum. Ba da bum.  _ Tobirama’s jawline really was impressive, sharp and white like marble.  _ Ba da bum.  _ Not to mention the rest of his face. His nose was scrunched up slightly in distaste at whatever he was reading and it caused tiny wrinkles to form on his forehead.  _ Ba da bum.  _ His mouth was turned down in a perpetual pout, his soft lips looking absolutely luscious and delicious and…

“Madara? Are you listening to me?” 

Madara jumped visibly in his seat at Hashirama’s mention of his name. He looked over to find both Senju brothers now staring at him, Hashirama with concern and Tobirama with that same annoying look of amusement from before.

“No, Hashirama, I wasn’t listening to you,” Madara said. Hashirama frowned but said nothing, and Madara let out a sigh of relief as the door opened and several meeting attendees arrived, taking the attention off of him for the time being. 

Once all the meeting attendees arrived Hashirama called the meeting to order, and Madara was forced to focus entirely on the issue at hand.

***

What felt like eons later, the meeting was finally wrapping up. The Hyuuga had, not surprisingly, been far outvoted in their proposal and they spent an annoyingly long time trying to appeal. But eventually they had to concede, and Hashirama officially denied their proposal. 

Madara suddenly remembered his earlier quest to murder Tobirama and turned to yell at him as the last of the meeting attendees finally filed out of the room.

“Madara, I don’t know how you expect to complete your report on time if you’re wasting away so much of the day in meetings,” Tobirama said before Madara could get a single word out. Madara literally saw red as his anger flared back up.

“I will not be rewriting or resubmitting that report, Tobirama,” he spat. “It’s a fine report!” Tobirama smirked.

“If it’s too difficult for you, I can speak to Hashirama about having your duties lessened,” he said. 

“I don’t need my duties lessened!” Madara yelled. “What I need is for you to let me do my job! I don’t understand how you get anything done when you’re clearly spending all of your time going out of your way to find things to do that will irritate me! Are you trying to get me to quit my position and leave the village? Because I have bad news for you - it’s not going to work! Stop singling me out for issues that exist only in your head!” 

Madara finally stopped yelling in order to take a breath and was surprised to see that he had actually elicited a reaction from the white-haired man - his jaw was open slightly and he looked almost… guilty. 

Not wanting to let Tobirama say another annoying word, Madara turned on his heels and left the meeting room. Rather than returning to his office, he marched all the way out of the building and through town to the Uchiha complex, into his house, and towards the back room. 

He practically threw himself onto the piano bench and played only a couple short arpeggios to warm up before diving immediately into Tobirama’s song. 

He had really pushed Madara to the limit this morning with his insulting report critiques and perfect jawline and annoying amusement and beautiful eyes and irritating demeanor and delicious lips and…

“I didn’t know you played.” 

Madara felt his blood freeze in his veins. His fingers hovered above the keys, stopping in the middle of the most climactic part of the melody. His heart had stopped beating and, for a moment, Madara actually hoped he would die before having to turn and face the man who belonged to that recognizable voice. But he didn’t die and, slowly, he turned to see Tobirama leaning against the doorframe of the room with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I shouldn’t have interrupted,” Tobirama said. “Please, continue. It’s a beautiful song.” 

Madara stared at him and, for the first time in his entire life, found himself rendered completely speechless. 

“Did you write it?” Tobirama continued. Madara’s voice returned in spurts.

“What… are you doing here?!” he said. “This room… is private!” Tobirama raised one eyebrow.

“I followed you back here,” he said. “I was going to apologize for my behavior lately.” Madara scoffed.

“ _ You  _ were going to  _ apologize?!” _ he said, his brain finally producing full sentences. “I didn’t think you were capable of such a thing.” 

“I was,” Tobirama said. “You were correct in your assertion that I’ve been singling you out. It was unfair of me to do so, and I apologize. I just find it so difficult to…” his eyes travelled down Madara’s body and back up to his face. “... _ resist _ .” Madara felt the hairs on his arm stand up at Tobirama’s tone and swallowed hard. 

“Apology… accepted,” he heard himself saying.  

“But please,” Tobirama said. “Continue your song. It’s… enrapturing.” Madara couldn’t play for Tobirama. He couldn’t. And certainly not  _ this _ song. It would be humiliating.

“I don’t perform,” he said after an awkward silence. 

“That’s too bad,” Tobirama said. “You’re quite captivating… when you play.” 

Madara’s brain seemed to stop working and he was a little worried he had suddenly suffered a stroke. Tobirama turned to leave and Madara was suddenly filled with an intense desire to make him stay. He quickly turned back to the keys and started the song again, hearing Tobirama’s footsteps stop for a moment, then get closer as he walked back into the room. Tobirama’s presence seemed to breathe new life into the song and it swelled with a power Madara had never before heard. He was surprised in his own ability to produce the feelings he had always left buried inside. 

When the song finally finished, Madara dared not turn around for fear of whatever expression may be on Tobirama’s face. In the silence left by the concluding song, he was starting to feel a surge of embarrassment at having played for someone, and especially for Tobirama of all people. After a moment he heard footsteps and felt Tobirama sit down on the bench right beside him. 

“I wrote it for you,” Madara blurted out. Tobirama smirked.

“I know,” he said. He placed one hand gingerly on the side of Madara’s face, then slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips against Madara’s. Madara instinctively tensed up at first but found himself quickly melting into the embrace. Tobirama’s lips were even more soft than he had ever dreamed. Madara found himself filled suddenly with the desire to do much more than kiss - he put both of his hands on the side of Tobirama’s face and pulled him even closer. Tobirama responded eagerly, licking his tongue against Madara’s lip and finally slipping it into his mouth.

Eventually, though, they had to break the kiss to breathe. Tobirama pulled away and looked at Madara with the same annoying expression of amusement from earlier before standing up.

“I suppose I can give you until Friday to finish rewriting that report,” he said. Without another word he turned and left the room, leaving Madara to stare after him like a fool. 

When he finally regained his wits, Madara turned back to his piano. He lifted his hands back to the keys and began composing an entirely new song.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing MadaTobi and I hope I got their personalities down. Hope you liked it!


End file.
